


Silverflint Tumblr Prompts

by salatuh



Series: Black Sails Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Bottom!Flint, First Kiss, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-02-10 20:58:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12920118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salatuh/pseuds/salatuh
Summary: This is a collection of Tumblr Prompts of the silverflint variety. <3 I'll reference tags in the top notes for each chapter.Feel free to follow me on Tumblr @silversexual:)





	1. "Sorry...I" after a sudden kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Ch. 1 is angst with a first kiss.  
> Rating: T

“Is it done?” Flint asks.

His eyes are set forward on the waterline, watching the slow descent of the sun on the horizon over Nassau’s broken down fort. The Walrus men had taken to the mess hall for their evening meal where Silver had just finished his evening goings on address, leaving the two of them alone on the main deck. 

Silver swallows and presses the pad of his left thumb to his bottom lip before he answers with a nod. 

“It is.” 

Max had pulled him aside and gave him the terms regarding his share of the gold. A healthy sum that would be plenty enough for Silver to start anew. Maybe in the New World, maybe in the new Spanish colonies down south. He couldn’t bring his mind to settle on a place. On any place. Flint’s heated statement still echoed sharply in his mind. Where else would he wake up in the morning and matter? Where else does he matter at all… 

He doesn’t need to matter, he tells himself. It’s best when he is nobody. 

“Mr. Scott has the men ready to sail at your command,” Silver quietly quips. He crosses his arms and watches Flint as he gruffly shuffles and leans against the starboard beam, his palms spread along the worn wood, rings dully clinking together as he taps his fingers in contemplation. 

Silver looks to this man’s rough hands so close to his own on the roughened deckside. He rakes his gaze over the black leather Spanish coat before landing on Flint’s profile. This man. This captain. He would not claim him to be _his_ , though. Flint would not be _his_ captain. Not _his_ man. 

“We’ll land in Charlestown within little more than a fortnight,” Flint husks out in his general direction. His eyes are still set on that fort. 

Whatever his plans were for that girl, whatever reasons that mysterious Barlow woman was tagging along, Silver wanted no part of it. He would stay on this ship so as to keep suspicions of his plans away. Once they returned to Nassau, he would be free of this crew, of this man and of his responsibilities to others once more.

Free. He would be free. _And rich..._

Silver can’t bring himself to smile at his own thoughts. No, instead he watches Flint move closer and look him over. 

Flint’s green eyes look ablaze with the flicker of the setting sun across his roughened features. He squints and pulls away from the side of the ship, instead leaning on hip to the wood. He sighs and a small smile rests along his chapped lips. 

This was not his captain, Silver reprimands himself again as his chest tightens. 

“Thank you,” Flint looks to his boots before continuing. Lord, he had nothing to thank him for. He was a thief. He was nothing but a thief. “Thank you for helping me get ba—”

Flint stays paralyzed in place as Silver’s soft warm lips press against his with a sudden fierceness. The heat behind the kiss spreads into the dark cavern of his mouth, enticing his jaw to unhinge and welcome Silver’s wet tongue to snake its way inside and wrap around his own. His heart stutters in his chest as a spark ignites deep in the pit of him, an old spark that he had long forgotten back in England, before he put on this mask. He leans into Silver’s hold on his forearms for the briefest of moments until it clicks that it’s _him_ that is kissing him. 

James steels himself, head pulling away like it’s been wrenched back and he bores his eyes into Silver with an incredulous but dumbfounded stare. 

“Sorry— I…” Silver stutters out. His own breaths quicken in his chest at what he just did. He gulps around his dread and guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Flint watches him step back and stumble over himself, his face flushed in a stark contrast to his cerulean eyes that turn down to the deck floor. 

Silver puts his palms up in a form of placation as he backs away as if he were carefully moving out of the path of a deadly feral jaguar. His voice cracks when he looks up under his lashes at Flint’s set jaw and inflamed glare. 

“I’ll leave.” 

And with those last words, Silver slinks away into the darkness of the ship. 


	2. Bottom!Flint prompt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt Summary: 
> 
> They had a long stressful day with sparing and they drink together. Flint is wondering how Silver is processing the fact he knows about Thomas and Silver shows him he doesn't mind. Vulnerable flint.
> 
> Chapter Rating: Explicit

Hot rain showers down while the moon’s soft glow lights their way down the cliffside overhead. Grime and sweat collected over the day’s labors is washed away in the torrential downpour while they hobble side by side toward the Maroon camp — Flint with their two cutlasses and Silver with his crutch. 

Silver pauses, crutch crunching in the wet shale rock and nods his head toward Flint’s tent on the edge of the small colony. 

“Mind if I stop in for a respite?” 

Flint been concerned about that… about them spending any time together, alone, without any real business of the war preparations to handle. No new maps of the interior to go over, no tactical ideas to divulge of as of late, and sparring had been a tough match for the day… no more stories to tell, or hear… or were there? 

Flint nods and smiles behind the shadow of a grimace and opens the flap of his tent for Silver to bend under and in. Silver groans and sits down on a stool by the small table made of crates while Flint puts away the two swords by his cot; it’s wide enough to lay down and spread his arms without touching both edges, although it feels rather empty and cold when he lays on it each night, eyes restlessly moving beneath his lids as the humid Bahama air presses down on his skin.

Flint pulls a cask of wine off the floor and sets it in front of Silver. He watches him rub and earring between his thumb and forefinger before tiredly grinning and taking the bottle to uncork it with his gleaming sharp teeth. Flint nods at his raised eyebrows in waiting, then watches Silver’s throat work while he swallows straight from the bottle, a dribble of deep burgundy liquid falls down the corner of his mouth and into his beard. Flint eyes glaze over in heat, forgetting himself for a moment before he suddenly glances down at his cut knuckles with a frown. 

“Goodness, Captain,” Silver drags his thumb over his chin and sucks the fallen liquid off it before continuing. “Is there any more of this for the crew?” 

Flint looks up with a raised brow and chuckles, shoulders aching with the impact of his slumping down on the cot beside Silver, taking the bottle in hand. He peers into the dark glass bottle and swishes the liquid inside; he can hardly see the small waves of fermented grapes he’s making before he takes a swig of his own. The sweet taste washes over his palate and warms his chest, undoing the complex sailor’s knots that were forming there just moments ago. 

“This bottle was taken off a prize by a man named Craig a few years back,” Flint muses. “Last person I drank this with is dead now…” He clicks his tongue behind his teeth and reminisces over Gates’ burly laugh, then his dead eyes before he closed them with the same fingers holding the neck of the wine bottle. 

Flint takes another hefty swig and glances up to meet Silver’s steady gaze. It holds him captive, alluring and dangerous all at once. His breath catches up his throat like warm water running up a washboard, defying gravity, while Silver’s roughened fingertips graze over the back of his hand. He grips the wine bottle harder until he feels his skin stretch beneath Silver’s warm palm, then loosens his grip for his quartermaster to take hold and tip it to his succulent mouth, stained red and glistening; and all the while those deep blue pools call him like twain sirens. 

“You didn’t kill him,” he states with a certainty that throws Flint’s addled mind out of his sea of thoughts and to the surface of a mad reality. 

He furrows his brows and feels a snarl reach his own lips. “You saw his dead body in my hands, John.” 

Silver shakes his head and huffs out with a mirthless smirk that disappears almost as soon as it arrives. 

“I’m not talking about Gates.”

Flint hunches closer until his right knee bumps into the folds of John’s folded over pant leg on his left. His fingernails scrape into his palms to keep him steady when Silver clears his throat and speaks again. 

“Thomas,” he starts, and Flint tightens his jaw that he didn’t even notice slackened at the name. “It’s not your fault, what happened to him…” John moves closer still, then speaks lowly in Flint’s ear. “Your love didn’t kill Thomas.”

He can’t look him in the eye when he feeds him this lie, no matter how much he wants to believe it with all his heart. He shakes his head and can’t stop the pessimistic chuckle that gurgles out of his stomach. 

But then he can’t breathe. 

For the briefest of moments he cannot catch a breath to give life to his own self loathing, because John’s lips are on his and stealing the very air from his lungs and filling his chest with his own truths until they become Flint’s as well. They meld and bend like the trees do to the weight of water falling down around them in hot sheets outside his tent. They mold and form to each other until John lays atop him on the cot, bottle forgotten beside Silver’s toppling crutch. 

A dark forest of hair curtains him from the world outside while John nibbles his lips like fruits of the most forbidden tree. James presses into his mouth with a moan that won’t settle down, instead forcing its way up between them to be swallowed by John, as if John summoned it himself for his consumption. He feels more than hears a rumble of arousal when their teeth click together, wet and feral and devouring; it reverberates into his mouth, into his chest, into his very bones. Flint rouses into unfastening their belts and matching trousers until they’re shoved off to the floor below and Flint can wrap his legs around John’s narrow hips, the sore, tired ache in his muscles replaced with a newfound lust deep in his core. 

They gasp for air, but he finds it’s just a sorry excuse for the revival he discovers in drinking John’s devotion through his pores. He digs his fingers deep into his quartermaster’s muscled shoulders and growls when their hardnesses slick together, hot and wet between the tectonic plates of their hips. 

“For the longest time,” John grunts and grips into the meat of his shoulder while grinding down harder. “I couldn’t understand why,” his teeth gleam while he quirks his mouth and furrows his brows over lust blown eyes, “why you did the things you did. Why you would chase a goddamn ship full of gold then  _leave it behind.”_ Flint mewls when John’s fist closes around them both in a vise grip, up and down, thumb roughly gliding over their tips. “Why you would lay waste to port towne after port towne,” John growls out into his neck then licks a stripe up his jugular before nipping down hard enough to make him jump into his hold. “Why you would throw us into a fucking tempest and nearly get us all killed —  _fuck,”_ Flint pushes into his fist with a whine rolling over John’s own as they near their precipice. 

He feels John’s wet breath against his neck, those lips pressing into the forming bruise with the threat of more. His nails scrape along John’s back in apology, etching it into his skin before he takes hold of a fistful of curled locks like the lifeline they are in this world of tragedy he’s created; the ropes that keep him steady on the rolling waves of his own sorrow and grief. 

“I thought you were a madman, just like they said you were,” Silver pants while he throws his head back in Flint’s hold. He bites at his own juicy lower lip until James can’t help but pull it loose with his teeth. They war for dominance of the kiss until Silver moves his fist quicker over them and Flint capitulates with a keened groan. Silver’s face in ecstasy, covered in a glowing sweat, looks as cleansing as the downpour pattering atop the canvas overhead, the moan he lets loose through his clenched jaw is enough to free James— but it’s not until he speaks again that James knows that John truly understands the darkness they reside in together. 

“You just couldn’t let his dream die, could you? No matter what happened, what was thrown at you, at us… you couldn’t let it go,” his words pitch up with his heaving chest while he strips them until Flint feels the pent up energy escape his body in Silver’s fist. 

And Flint is found. He is free to be found and seen at last, understood by someone he could trust to let in, who stood by his side and found light in his darkness. 

“Fuck, James,” Silver groans and releases him to hold himself over his frame. And it isn’t until then that James sees the trickles of tears falling down John’s eyes. “I’m not letting you go. I can’t do it,” he cries over him.

“It’s alright,” he says through tears of his own. James holds his face between his hand and presses lips together until John wails with his orgasm into his waiting mouth, swallowing it whole, making it his own. They fold, and press, and hold close atop his bed. “You have me,” he murmurs into John’s temple, arms wrapped around his frame. 

“You have me.” 


End file.
